Unrelenting Faith
by rain0205
Summary: He made her a promise, one that he could never break even though it caused his brother to suffer. But he owed her his life and more, what choice did he have but to stand by it? What was he supposed to do now with everything falling apart? Sequel to Are You Ready?


hey hey die hard fans! So happy to be back and in business, I know I'm a horrid author with the neglect I've been giving you, but I've thought of something fresh and hopefully you'll like it So this here will be the sequel to Are You Ready?, as I've finally figured out how to end something I started eons ago and stood at a stand still. I hope you all still love me, I will be continuing Are You Ready` while working on this. I'm so excited I just have to get it out, and it will help me do the final touches and go full with this one.

So, without much further ado, I give you the second installment: Unrelenting Faith.

...

When the trees in the cold night rustle in the wind, it gives off a bad omen. It was the last thing he could feel the last time he was outside. He could remember flying over a young boys head, screeching in defiance at the evil that wished to claim him. He would never give into such a force. But then he saw that he wasn't the one flying, he was watching the scene before him. This wasn't his memory, this belonged to someone else, someone he felt he should know. What had happened? Where was he? Who were these people. He couldn't even call out to anyone, the scene before him disappearing.

His eyes opened into the darkness. It was all he could see. He was going to reach to his face but his hands hit something hard. Carefully, he felt around and realized that he was in a container. Fear gripped his heart. Buried alive? Who would do such a thing? He smacked at it, pushing, desperately trying to get out. He had no idea how far under he was, or how long he was there even. He had no idea how much air he had left to breathe under here. He had to keep himself calm, or he'd run out of what little air he had faster. There was no use pushing, there was too much weight on the other side.

He closed his eyes again. If only he could remember what he was doing and how he got here. And now, he would die here without any questions answered. He wished it wouldn't happen this way, that he could live to know everything around him. But he never would. He felt a tear in his eye. He hardly had any idea of what he was crying about, but he felt strongly upset. Finally giving into his emotions, he pounded on the obstruction that was going to kill him. He wished he was above ground as he cried for help, pounding on what he could only assume was a coffin.

And then he stopped, his arms outstretching completely. He gasped, opening his eyes, not expecting to see a grey sky in front of him. He struggles to catch his breath, letting his tired arms fall. He was lying in the grass, unsure of where he was or what time of day. Once he was breathing normal again he found the use of his legs and stood up, gathering his bearings. He was in a graveyard, which would make sense since someone tried to bury him alive.

He looked at the stone that should have bore his name, but it was curiously blank. He frowned as he stared at it, but there was nothing he could really do. He looked for the entrance of the graveyard, hoping to figure out where he was. He proceeded towards it, entering a strange town he had never been in before. There were people walking around, staring at him with indifferent or questioning eyes. It made him self conscious to have everyone look at him like he was a ghost. He saw pictures moving, knowing that he should probably be alarmed but feeling as if that was the way it was supposed to be.

"Alright sir?" asked a peculiarly dressed man. He was wearing robes, instead of clothes like himself. He spoke with an accent, but that seemed normal for him. The old man had a long white beard, and wore a pointing had on top of long white hair. His clear blue eyes were strangely youthful, something that made him trustworthy.

"Fine thanks," he replied, wanting to seem normal. He felt that drawing attention to himself wasn't a good idea.

"Strange weather we've been having," the man obviously wanted to keep talking.

"Has it? I only arrived this morning."

"I thought so. You don't quite sound like you're from here. Is this your first time in Godric's Hollow?"

He nodded.

"Have you been over to visit the graves of the fallen from the war? It's been quite eerie there. Godrics Hollow is great place for visiting young sir. But the change in the weather and strange feelings coming from the grave suggest something else is on the way. You're better off going to stay at the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley. Rest there before you decide to venture out."

"I will. Could you tell me how to get there?" he knew that this was the place he should be going, the name striking something within him.

"Have you any money?"

He reached into his pocket, somehow knowing that this was what the man was looking for.

"I'll take you to my house and you can floo there. Come with me," the old man gestured excitedly, grabbing onto the young sir's arm and pulling him down the street.

Ordinarily, he should be worried, but he felt as if he knew this kind and quirky old man. Like they shared something close in a past life. The old man took him down some twists and turns, almost like they were on the outskirts of what looked like a small village. He had never been here before so everything was new. But he figured that this was the way it was supposed to be. His instincts didn't tell him to wary in any way, and since he had nothing else but his gut, that was all he could trust at the moment.

The house he was brought to was covered in trees and vines, almost like it was trying to hide. He was sure that should anyone be going by in passing they wouldn't think once about looking at it. The cheery old man dragged him inside, where the house had a warm and homey feeling. It was very familiar, like he had been here before. There were pictures, moving of course, all over the place. The man was busying himself with something, while he looked around at all the pictures. He didn't recognize anyone he saw, but he felt like he should.

He stopped when he saw four people standing together. They didn't look too old, but the sight of them struck it inside of him. He knew these people, he was there when this was happening. Identical twins stood tall beside an above average height girl and what looked like her brother. They were giggling and pushing each other around. One of the twins had his arm around the girl, and he could tell that they had strong feelings for each other. He knew them, her especially. No, she wasn't his former lover, the feeling he was getting was more like family, like a sister.

"That's you in that picture," said the old man, coming to stand beside him.

"It is?" he was stunned. He looked up and saw his reflection. Amethyst eyes, messy brown hair, he was the boy in that picture. A clue to his identity, now if he could only find out who those other people were, "Do you know who they are?"

"Afraid not."

"But isn't this your house?"

"Yes dear boy. But it belonged to an old member of the Order of the Phoenix."

"Order of the Phoenix..." he trailed.

"Yes. I purchased it recently, it seemed that everyone had forgotten its existence so I haven't had the time to clean it up yet."

"Is that why you're helping me? Because I'm in this picture?"

"You weren't a turned traitor of the Order, and I owe them my life. If I can help them out by getting you to a better place, then I will."

"Thank you."

"Come come, let's get you off to the Leaky Cauldron. Better place for tourists," the old man pulled him away and shoved him in a fireplace before he had a chance to ask about who the other people in the photograph were. The old man gave him a bag that felt rather heavy, "there's money in there. I'm going to throw some floo powder at you, make sure you shout 'Diagon Alley' very clearly while the flames are going. They won't hurt you. Are you ready?"

He blinked, feeling very strange at the end of that sentence, "Uhh."

"Go on then," the old man threw the floo powder at the young man's feet, "Speak now!"

"D-Diagon Alley!" he shouted, unsure of himself. He began to spin then, the old man's smiling face starting to fade and then vanish. As he spun he started to see a new place, one that he was completely unsure of. Where was he now?

...

_The time is near_

_To be returned what you hold dear_

_You must battle for what has been lost_

_And make sure the greatest memory isn't tossed_

_Hasten to the place of destiny_

_Are you ready_?

George opened his eyes slowly to the sunshine in his window. It took him a moment to figure out where he was. In his room, on his bed, alone this time. It took a moment before the headache reached him, the events of last night catching up to him. He brought a hand to his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and exhaling. He brought his hand back to lay beside him on the bed. He stretched out, turning to his side and putting the pillow above his head. He knew that he had to get up for work, but he just wasn't feeling it. When was he ever feeling it? Seemed like the passed three years he was stuck in a rut, one that he wasn't really trying to get out of.

Groaning, he blindly reached for his nightstand beside the bed. He felt around until he could feel the handle of the drawer and opened it. He felt around until he felt a cold vile shape in his hand. Pulling his head out of the pillow, he made sure it was the right potion before consuming all the contents in one gulp. Instantly he started to feel better, learning how to make this potion from a master. He had mastered it himself over the years, but not for any good reasons.

"Oi George!" he could hear his brother banging on the door.

"I'm up!" he shouted back He didn't want his brother to come barging in. Not like Fred didn't know what he was up to most nights, but the look on his face made him feel guilty enough. While they were at work, no one would be the wiser. George sighed, shaking it off and getting out of bed. His room hadn't changed since he moved in, and he had no idea why he hadn't bothered to move anything or change it.

He put on his magenta robes, the official uniform of Weasley Wizard Wheezes, the joke shop he owned with his twin brother. He may have been huffing and puffing about having to get up for work, but in truth, it was the only thing that truly made him happy anymore. He smiled as he looked in the mirror. He should really take that down, girls questioning as to why he had a mirror in his room. It didn't matter though, he felt that he shouldn't have touched anything here and he wouldn't. He was ready for yet another day of his life, one that he kept questioning the point of going on was.

...

Downstairs the shop was full of new Hogwarts students. School was going to commence soon, and the kids wanted their prank items before hand. He smiled at the kids, showing off some of their new inventions. This job wasn't just about running the shop, it was about creating new toys for the kids to use, as well as keeping up to date on their current ones. He loved seeing the smiling faces as they came and went, and the parents looking as if they would have kittens with some of the products they were forced to buy.

But the parents still came back, it didn't matter whether or not they approved because the items that the Weasley twins created made a lot of people happy, and that was all that really mattered to George. If he could keep a smile on a young girl and boys face then all of this was really worth it. It was when he wasn't working that he was alone with his thoughts, melancholy and sour until he went out for a few drinks. Sometimes he would come home with company, sometimes he didn't. He didn't have a drinking problem, no, just an indifference to his life.

"Verity, how are you today?" asked George, coming to sit by the counter for a few.

Verity was someone they hired to help them during the busy times and weekends. George found her to be very absent minded, much like Luna Lovegod. It made for some humour at least, but her heart was good and she was great for the business, even if the kids didn't quite understand her.

"I'm good, trying to find a solution to clean the mess left over from yesterday," she replied.

"I doubt you'll find anything. We haven't been able to get a stain like that out for years, and there's loads of them in the basement."

"I can probably cook something up."

"Good luck," George grinned.

He spotted Fred down a couple levels, helping a group of young girls. Girls were always crazy about their love potions, it was probably their number one seller. He smirked at the woes of a teenage girl. Every year they never seemed to change, which made it easier for him to deal with them. But as every day it did, the store would be closing for the day soon. Children were ushered out by their parents. It was an early day for them, but that was because school was right around the corner. They had to get on perfecting ideas and inventions for the Christmas break.

Verity had left for the night, and she would be back for her weekend shifts. It was always slow the weekends after the first week of school. Fred was sweeping up the muggle way. He was aware that he could use magic on the broom, but for some reason Fred preferred to do it this way. George was wiping the counter when the bell chimed, alerting the twins that someone had walked into the shop. Fred had forgotten to lock the door.

"Sorry mate, we're closed," said George absently, curiously looking at the stain Verity had pointed out earlier.

"Sorry, I..." the customer trailed, but the sound of his voice made George stop dead.

"George..." Fred trailed.

George looked up to confirm the owner of the customer walking in late. He felt like he couldn't breathe, like he was seeing a ghost. But Fred could see him too, so this couldn't be another one of his illusions. Messy chocolate brown hair, untamed on a boy, young man, slightly shorter than he was. His amethyst eyes looked so confused, like he was unsure of himself. But he was dead, he remembered the scene so vividly in his head. He had nightmares sometimes, which was sometimes the reason he used to lie awake at night. But how was this possible? How was Brenden DelCotta standing alive and well at the entrance of his shop?

...

alright, thats the beginning of this, lets hope they come to me faster and we can wrap up eternity. let me know what you think c:


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